


Holiday

by sonictrowel



Series: Long Night in the Blue House [14]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10298663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: ...It was nice having her around, the past few years.  The three of them were well suited, and it felt a bit like when they still had the Ponds, when they were an odd little hodge-podge family.  Before River, he would never have thought it possible that he could be a part of a family again.  But with her, it never seemed hard at all.But Milly would be back before too long, and like her, the Doctor was with his real family.  Just the two of them: it was more than just enough, it was everything.  This planet, this life, it was all for River, all for them to steal more time together.  He wanted for nothing as long as she was there.-slightly edited!





	

It was a bit of an adjustment, not having Milly in the TARDIS after three years of her popping in and out all the time.  For the last year she had been more or less a full-time resident, despite her initial protestations.  So of course they missed her, but she had her real family to get back to.  The Doctor had been surprised when River told him the girl was 32 years old— he was an especially bad judge of such details in this body— but still, child or no-longer-a-child, it’d been years since she visited Earth.  Her parents must have missed their daughter terribly.  

Why she wanted to come to this crap planet in the first place— to study _archaeology_ of all things when there seemed to be nothing of archaeological interest here except that which he’d apparently left behind— well, that remained a mystery.  But it was nice having her around, the past few years.  The three of them were well suited, and it felt a bit like when they still had the Ponds, when they were an odd little hodge-podge family.  Before River, he would never have thought it possible that he could be a part of a family again.  But with her, it never seemed hard at all.

But Milly would be back before too long, and like her, the Doctor was with his real family.  Just the two of them: it was more than just enough, it was everything.  This planet, this life, it was all for River, all for them to steal more time together.  He wanted for nothing as long as she was there.

River wasn’t teaching over the holiday, and he figured they were due for another secluded honeymoon.  The locals said that there would be a slight thaw and a little bit more light between years twelve and fifteen of the long night, as Darillium’s long orbit around its own sun brought it closer to a neighbouring white dwarf.  But right now, some ten years in, with the snow drifts outside nearly reaching the roof of the house, was a perfect time to spend their days hidden away, wrapped up in each other by the fire.

Besides, with no one else about to scandalise, they could reinstate Starkers Thursday.  (River had tried to change the name many times, but to her chagrin and the Doctor’s smug amusement, it seemed to have stuck.)

They climbed reluctantly out of the warm sanctuary of their bed on one such Thursday morning, switching on the sunlamps and squinting in the sudden glaring light.  The Doctor stepped up behind River, hugging her back to his chest and sleepily kissing her neck and cheek as they stumbled together to the shower.  Her delightful low giggle echoed off the tile, until he pulled her flush against him under the stream of blissfully hot water and covered her mouth with his.  

When they emerged quite a long while later in a cloud of steam, the Doctor made a run in his towel for scones and tea from the kitchen.  Breakfast in bed eventually became lounging in bed, their plates and mugs discarded on the side table, bodies comfortably tangled together under the sheets.  He studied River’s hair as it dried and slowly sprang back to voluminous life, a phenomenon which never ceased to fascinate him.  They joked and reminisced and kissed, and sometimes just stared at each other until they wore matching absurd, besotted smiles, like a couple of smitten teenagers.  The Doctor’s hearts were so very light.  It was still unbelievable, to be able to have that feeling for this long.

Come early afternoon they were sharing the oversized armchair next to the bedroom fireplace, both of them reading and enjoying the other’s quiet company.  The Doctor was doing more research on the Hybrid; River didn’t think anything of it, since it was an appropriate area of curiosity for him, given the circumstances surrounding its rumoured existence.  References to the damn thing just kept popping up wherever he looked, even more so since the Hazandra had come to figure in his research, and he couldn’t help but think that it— they— she?— had to have some part in his future plans.  Perhaps he would be seeing Ashildr again.  The details of when they parted last were all a blur, but of course, that was at the end of the universe, so he’d be seeing her much earlier in her timestream.  If he did at all— all he ever seemed to find was a load of cryptic bollocks that never amounted to any real information.  

He couldn’t keep his eyes on his book at the moment, anyway.  The bedsheet that was draped haphazardly over their laps had fallen away from River’s navel to gather at the top of her thigh, the exposed swell of her hip captivating him.  Her skin was bathed in warm tones in the flickering firelight, the tops of her breasts and the curve of her shoulder catching the orange glow, her cheeks flushed from the heat, the outer wisps of her mass of curls lit in blazing red.  If either of them should be compared to a sunset, it was certainly his glorious wife.  He suddenly _had_ to touch her; to feel her solid and warm under his hands and make sure he wasn’t dreaming her.  (Well, maybe a bad choice of metaphors, considering she was quite solid and warm when she visited his dreams, as well.)

The Doctor wrapped his arm around her back to rest his hand on her fire-heated skin, brushing his thumb over the curve of her hip and squeezing her affectionately against his side.  River glanced at him and smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment, then returned to making notes in her heavy textbook for the upcoming term’s lesson plans.  The Doctor abandoned his own book for a lost cause, setting it on the arm of the chair.  He leaned into her wild, fiery-gold hair and breathed in the sweet fragrance of her shampoo, mixed with the slightest hint of woodsmoke from the fire, and that other warm, wonderful something he could never define.

From there it was impossible not to seek out more of that intoxicating scent that tugged on his hearts (and other things,) evoking countless, visceral memories of holding his wife close.  He nudged her hair aside with his cheek, bringing his nose and his lips to the side of her neck, inhaling deeply and peppering the spot with open-mouthed kisses.  River shuddered and rolled her head to the side, giving him better access.  He eagerly took her invitation to continue his exploration of her shoulder, and she dropped her book and pencil into her lap.

His free hand started to wander of its own accord, and it wasn’t til it was cupping her breast that he suddenly realised that this had escalated quite a bit past his initial impulse to rest his hand on her hip.

“Er,” he muttered into her ear, clearing his throat when his voice came out sounding like gravel, “sorry— do you need to, uh, get back to work?  You were just… there... being all…” he gestured vaguely and groaned under his breath, _“you.”_ He kissed her cheek; couldn’t help himself. “Just sort of... happened.”

She turned her head toward him, soft curls spilling over her bare shoulder, her green eyes twinkling with mischief and lust.   “I can see that,” she said, glancing pointedly down at his lap.

The sheet wasn’t hiding much.  The Doctor felt his face flush, but answered her only by raising an eyebrow in silent challenge.  

River laughed— that deep, enchanting, musical sound of delight that made his hearts flutter with intense affection— and closed her textbook, dropping it to the floor.  “Darling,” she purred, “I haven’t been sat here in my altogether all day long just for us to spend it _not_ doing this.”

Her lightning-quick reflexes gave him no time to respond before the sheet was ripped off with a flourish and she was hovering over him on her knees.

“Oh.  Good,” he said softly, and then her mouth was on his, her fingers in his hair.  He had just raised his hands to her face and melted into the loveliness of her kiss when he was suddenly, completely derailed because _oh, god—_ she was sinking down onto him already.  His arms clutched her desperately around the waist.  Struggling to think, he inched forward on the seat so that she could move in closer and brace her knees more comfortably behind him.  He moaned into her mouth as she settled into his lap, the wet heat and soft, squeezing pressure of her body flooding his senses.  She pushed down against him, shifting to get him as deep as possible, and his brain completely short-circuited for a moment.

 _“Fuck,_ River,” he gasped as he broke away for air, tightening his arms around her and pulling her against his chest, as much to keep her still as to keep her close.  He opened his mouth to speak, but she wiggled her hips and all that came out was another strangled moan.   _“Slow,_ okay?” he managed to pant, still feeling breathless.  “I don’t want to— to get ahead of you.”

“Alright, darling,” she whispered sweetly, her curls tickling his cheek, and pressed her hot mouth to the spot where his jaw met his ear.  

The Doctor shivered, overwhelmed.  His wife was a force of nature, all-consuming, and entirely too wonderful for the foolish old man she married.  But somehow, in spite of it all, she loved him and wanted him, she trusted him and _knew_ him and let herself be vulnerable and open to him.  All he could do in thanks for these miracles was love her with complete abandon in return.

River began to move slowly, rocking and leaning into him.  The seat of the armchair wasn’t quite deep enough for her to get much leverage.  The Doctor held still, letting her get comfortable and set their pace.  There was something especially intimate about holding her this way, with her breasts sliding against him as she moved, his chin fitting comfortably against her collarbone, his hands free to roam and all of her within his reach.  He worked his fingers into the strong muscles above her shoulder blades, feeling her relax more fully into him as she sighed in contentment.  Her nails dragged softly up and down his back, making his whole body shudder.

She moved more steadily over him now, not withdrawing at all but bucking and grinding her hips against him, creating blissful jolts of friction all along where they were joined.  Her breath caught on a little moan every time she bore down and pressed him hard into that deep spot he knew drove her wild.  Working with a limited range of motion, he reluctantly released her from the circle of his arms and braced his hands on the chair, tilting his hips up sharply when she pushed down onto him.  He was rewarded when she groaned “Oh, _yes,_ sweetie,” her rough voice lighting up his spine with desire.

The Doctor panted with the effort of lifting up to meet her as they set a slow, deliberate pace.  Unable to touch her while leveraging himself on his hands, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.  His stomach still flip-flopped like a nervous lad with a crush when he was pinned under that intense, open gaze; love and trust and pleasure written plainly in her wide-blown pupils, the firelight catching the flecks of gold in her irises.  

Her eyelids fluttered every time they threw their weight together, the impact thrumming through their connected bodies.  He tried to focus only on her, on reading and responding to her reactions, and not on the achingly intense pleasure that was setting his nerves afire and threatening to overwhelm his control.  Then her mind reached out to his, and the comforting intimacy of their interwoven thoughts spread through him in a wave of warmth and contentment.

“River,” he whispered, but he didn’t know how to say what he felt, so he just said it again and again; his constant mantra.   _River,_ the most beautiful word ever spoken.   _River,_ the name more sacred to him than any ancient secret of the universe.  The greatest blessing he never deserved.  The centre of his life; transforming love into a tangible thing and bringing him to his knees with the bliss of it.   _River_ echoing in all the empty, lonely spaces in him, until he actually knew what it was to feel whole, to belong. His greatest adventure, his most profound joy, the only name that meant _home._

He was glad she was privy right now to the feelings that still tied up his tongue when he tried to voice them.  He could feel the emotion welling up in her, even before she gasped wetly and swiped the back of her wrist over her shining eyes.

 _“Oh_ , darling,” she breathed, leaning down closer to him again and wrapping him in her arms.  “I love you.”

“I love you, River,” the Doctor mumbled warmly, nuzzling into her and kissing her ear.  “So very, very much.”

He could feel her hovering on the edge, her thighs trembling, and he focussed all of his energy into pushing up to meet her and pouring his own pleasure-hazed adoration into her mind.  Finally she gasped and arched her back, letting out a long, shuddering moan.  He knew he could keep her going if he handled her just right— and with her breasts suddenly lifted before him, he leaned forward and closed his lips around a nipple, still keeping up his firm rhythm.  She nearly sobbed as she rolled smoothly into the throes of a second release without ever coming down from the first.

Her gorgeous, melodic voice, whimpering in ecstasy, was a sound he would gladly listen to for all the rest of his lives.  With that music ringing in his ears and her muscles fluttering and squeezing around him, he followed her into bliss.

She fell limp in his lap, gasping for breath, her head resting on his shoulder and arms lightly encircling him.

“Don’t let it go to your head, but…” she trailed off, panting, and finally just let out a whinging groan of appreciation and a breathless laugh, apparently giving up on expressing herself in words.

The Doctor chuckled, too dazed and content to even be smug as he hugged her against him, their sweaty skin sticking together.  “Yeah,” he croaked.  “Likewise, my dear.”

After a few minutes, when the three pounding hearts between them had slowed, the Doctor managed with considerable effort to stand from the chair, still clutching River to him, and stumble the few steps to the bed.  He laid her down and climbed in after her, yanking the duvet up over them.  She moved automatically to wrap an arm and a leg over him as he pulled her close.  They exchanged satisfied little tendrils of thought and lazy, soft kisses.

Eventually they stilled entirely, and the sounds of their even breathing and the crackling fire and even the psychic thrum of the TARDIS slowly faded from his peaceful mind.

___

A cool salt breeze stirred the fringe that had fallen over his face.  His eyelids were so heavy.  All he wanted was to stay in bed, all wrapped around her warm curves, perfectly contented.  But then he remembered there wasn’t a breeze in their bedroom.  

“Oh,” he mumbled— wrong voice again— as he cracked an eye open.  He was in very much the same position as he’d fallen asleep, but not in the same place, or the same body, and it wasn’t quite the same River in his arms.

“Nice night, darling?” she asked with a smirk, her green eyes sparkling in the brilliant starlight.  

They were curled up on the bedroll where they’d spent their wedding night, on the deserted top branch of the tree, under the open air and the myriad stars.  

“Afternoon, actually,” the Doctor replied, squeezing her tight and kissing her hair.

“Mm, we had a lot of _very_ good afternoons,” River said fondly, with a little wistful sigh.

“Well, I’m right here now, love,” he murmured, lowering his face to kiss her on the nose.

“Aren’t I supposed to be giving you some cryptic hints about how you’re going to get me out of this damn computer?”

“If you like,” he said, nudging his nose into her hair and kissing her cheek.  “But you’re _not_ supposed to be lonely.  You’ve got me.  Always.”

“You do know how to woo a girl,” she whispered, tilting her face up to his.

“I’ve been practising,” he mumbled, smiling against her lips.

___

When they woke from their nap, River wrapped herself in the bedsheet and went out to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with the picnic basket in hand.  The Doctor beamed at her.

“Bit rubbish out, so I thought we could have one in here,” she said with a smile, setting down the basket and unfolding a blanket.  

“Good idea,” he replied, and scrambled up from the bed to help her spread the blanket out in front of the fire.  Upon a moment's consideration, he retreated briefly to the wardrobe and came back draped messily in a sheet to match hers, before joining her on the blanket.

"What, I thought I'd reserved a table with a view," River teased.  He shot her a look, and she only seemed more pleased with herself.

The Doctor opened the basket and began removing the contents and ticking them off on his fingers.  "Snacks, booze," he looked back up and smiled at her soppily, "wife.  I am positively set.  Thanks, honey."

River smiled back at him.  "I know what you like."

"Better than I do, usually."

"Make that always."

When they'd finished their meal, the Doctor sat back against the bed, full of snacks and wine and feeling perfectly content, and reached for his guitar.  He played River’s requests while she watched from just above him, lying on her stomach with her head on her arms, hair spilling over the side of the mattress.

“I knew Mick,” the Doctor said, as he began to play the intro of _Satisfaction_.

 _“Did_ you?  I was there when he was writing for this, he never mentioned you.  We really should have spent more time in the sixties together.  Might’ve loosened you up a bit sooner.”

The Doctor made a sour face, still absently plucking out the tune.  “I like that better than the idea of you having met him solo.”

“I don’t need anyone to defend my honour, honey.”

“Oh,” he scoffed, _“I know.”_

“Doctor,” River cooed, “you _know_ jealous is a _very_ good look on you.”

“Is not.  Look at this,” he stopped playing abruptly to turn his scowling face up to her, pointing a long finger at it.  “This is a cross look.  Cross eyebrows.”

“You didn’t mind when it was Elvis.  You liked him!”

“First— I _did_ mind, a bit, and second— he wasn’t really Elvis, he was plastic!”

“Well, if you want to be particular about it.”

“You may disabuse me of my distasteful notions about what you got up to with Mick Jagger at any time, honey.”

“I could do, but this is much more entertaining.”

He had an impulse to whinge her name in frustration but stuffed it down, frowning.  Damn dreams were getting his personalities all mixed up.  River burst into laughter.

“What,” he muttered irritably.

“Your _face,”_ she giggled.  “Get up here, you idiot.”

He complied, but made sure to sulk about it.  River grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down so he was on his hands and knees above her.  She was still looking at him like he was a very ridiculous, lovable fool.  She looked at him like that quite a lot.  He should mind much more than he did.

“I said I was there when Mick wrote those lyrics, you daft man.”

“What?” the Doctor said, quite beginning to forget what they were talking about now that she was so near.

She grinned wickedly.  “Can’t get no satisfaction.”

The Doctor really was a very, very lucky man, he thought for about the two thousandth time that day.

 

___

 

The Doctor's eyes sprang open in the middle of the night, while River was still sleeping soundly.  He extracted himself from her arms and shuffled round the room, throwing on some pyjama bottoms and his dressing gown.  He’d woken up with a thought about the Hazandra freshly formed in his mind, and he just felt compelled to take a look at it, to ponder the idea further.  He’d moved it from his sock drawer years ago and put it in a much more secure compartment in the TARDIS console, where it couldn’t be found or accessed by any old body.

He padded through the lounge and opened the linen cupboard, stepping through into the console room.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Milly was standing at the console, the compartment that had housed the Hazandra raised and opened in front of her.  It was empty.  She whirled around to face him, one hand balled in a fist, the light catching on a glint of red peeking through her fingers.

While the Doctor’s mouth gaped open, she blurted urgently across the room, _“You can’t tell the Professor.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading. Your comments make me do a happy dance!


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